Page 5 of Written In Flesh

“You don’t know who this is?” the doctor asks, and I shake my head. The woman looks at me, and her red-painted lips purse. She glances at the doctor, then back at me, before bursting into tears.

Dr. Carson walks back over to my bed and sits on the edge. “What is the last complete memory you have?” he asks, and I blink.

I can’t think. My mind touches on various colors and sounds, but nothing feels right or like a memory, more like something I’m supposed to know. “It was Tuesday, and I had school.”

Dr. Carson frowns, “And what school do you go to?”

I blink, my brain pounds against my temples, but somehow I manage to pluck the name from various flashes of memory. “North Shore High School.”

The woman gasps, and her hand slides up to her mouth.

“What grade are you in?” Dr. Carson asks, his aged eyes watching me intently.

“I just started my senior year of high school…” My voice trails off when the sobbing grows louder from the woman. Dr. Carson frowns as well.

“Oh, honey!” the woman cries, and my head slowly turns toward her. From her expensive pair of red-soled heels and her blonde hair in a trendy updo, my gaze skates over her, but I don’t recognize her. There is nothing that feels even remotely familiar about this woman.

“What do we do, Dr. Carson?”

“I will run some more tests. It’s not uncommon, but these things can happen.” His voice breaks off when an imposing man in a dress shirt, suit pants, and a loose tie walks into the room. His tan face is hard, and a pair of bright, green eyes glance over me.

“Is it common to lose her memory that far back?” His deep baritone voice fills the room. With the scowl on his lips, I can’t tell if he’s mad at the doctor, mad at the woman for crying, or mad at me for being in this room in the first place. A memory tickles at the edges of my conscience. He does look familiar. His short black hair is peppered with gray, but I remember a photograph of him when he was younger, holding a toddler above his head, and she was laughing at him.

“Dad?”

His head turns to me, and the woman stops crying, her tear-stained face glances from him to me and back again. “You know him?”

“There’s a picture of him in a frame in my room,” I manage to mumble out. Something flashes in his eyes when he looks at me. I want to say it’s an apology, even though that makes no sense. I’ve never met him; I’ve only been told stories about him from my aunt Loreli. He and my mom had a Romeo-and-Juliet-type love, star-crossed, tragic, and over before it really even started. When my mom was alive, she would tell me how handsome and kind my dad was, and how strong and controlling he could be when he had to. He was destined to be in politics, and my mom’s family was poor; she was born in the Apeleridge Forest, which was considered the wrong side of town. They never married because his family and hers wouldn’t allow it.

My mom was beautiful and too kind. She let people walk all over her because she refused to ever say or think a mean thought. She was pure and gentle. She passed away from a broken heart when I was three, after the last time my dad had come to see us. I went to live with Aunt Loreli, my mom’s younger sister, and he let me go. He never tried to get custody of me. All I know of him is the birthday card I get each year and the money that gets deposited into a bank account I was never supposed to tell anyone about.

“Where is Aunt Loreli?” My hands slide under my body, and I try to sit up.

Loreli will tell me what’s going on. She never lies to me. Probably because she’s only fifteen years older than me, but she always gave me facts and let me make my own decisions from them. I need her. I don’t understand why I’m here or why everyone is looking at me like I’m crazy.

“I called her, but she is living in California now. It will take a while for her to get here,” my dad says, his green eyes studying me intently. I frown automatically. How can she live in California? We have a house in North Shore. It’s an adorable bungalow, and while many might think it’s not much, it’s home. We spent hours redoing the inside, and our neighbors helped fix the outside. Aunt Loreli was proud of that home; it doesn’t make sense that she would sell it, let alone when would she without my knowing about it?

“How long was I sleeping for?”

“Three days,” Dr. Carson answers and glances at my father, who is still watching me. “Skallan, where do you think you live?”

“With my aunt in North Shore,” I reply, my voice dying slowly when everyone’s faces fall. “What is happening? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you don’t remember almost nine months of your life.” That icy voice from before speaks again, and this time I whip around to face the direction it’s coming from. I almost wish I hadn’t. All the air in the room seems to get sucked out, and my lungs spasm.

My eyes collide with steel gray ones. The color is almost shiny and metallic, but sitting this close, I can see the dull void in them. It’s as if he’s looking through me and not at me. He’s sitting in a hospital chair, like he owns the place, lounging in gray sweats and a white T-shirt and a black zip-up hoodie pulled up over his head. I would guess he’s around my age. He has dark hair peeking out from his hood, which looks long enough to run my fingers through. I feel myself frown at the thought, not sure where it came from. He’s as much a stranger to me as the woman and the other young kid from earlier.

Those silver eyes, so pale they almost look unnatural, travel over my face, and a sense of foreboding snakes through me, sending chills down my spine. My stomach sinks, and my heart feels heavy. His face is gorgeous, the type of male perfection you only read about or see in the movies, with his high cheekbones, sharp jaw, and ridiculously plump, red lips. If it wasn’t for the way his eyes are regarding me as if I’m less than human, I’d say he’s beautiful, but the only word I can think of right now to describe him is deadly.

“Do I know you?”

His lips pull back, showcasing straight, white teeth, and he smirks.

“You don’t even know him?” The guy from earlier walks back into the room. I glance at him again, this time noticing he’s also wearing a black hoodie. They match, and I can sort of see some resemblance in their facial features. His face is pale now, and I don’t miss the quick flicker of disbelief in his eyes.

“Should I?” I glance between them, then back at my dad, who is still conversing with the doctor. My forehead hurts, and all I want to do is sleep.

“I want Aunt Loreli,” I manage to get out before lying back in the bed again and closing my eyes. This has to be a nightmare. I must be sleeping, and when I wake up again, everything will be fine. I squeeze my eyes shut, and I can’t help the tear that falls from my frustration.